Reflection
by terribleramen
Summary: Grell looks into a mirror. Rated for themes, warnings inside. One-shot.


**Wrote this awhile back. People seemed to love it on deviantART. So I brought it here, it's just a one-shot.**

**Warnings: Angst, struggling with sexuality, slight self-inflicted harm, yaoi undertones, depressing theme, other things.**

**Come now, people. It's _Grell. _That's a warning in itself.**

**Enjoy.**

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><p>Green eyes opened wide, Grell Sutcliff stared into the mirror on his vanity.<p>

Recently, Grell had made a small change in his usual behavior. He was a lot calmer around everyone. He didn't squeal and fawn over the objects of his never-ending affection. He managed to keep a small distance between himself and any other attractive male, instead of jumping onto them or clinging for long amounts of time. Even with that, he still smiled widely and showed signs of psychosis while doing so.

But needless to say, Grell hadn't been seriously physically injured since the change in self-control.

Grell picked up a brush and slowly ran its bristles through his long, flowing hair. Along with the slightly noticeable change in behavior, Grell had made an invisible change mentally as well. The feminine shinigami had finally come to terms with reality. Sebastian had left a few months back, taking the brat-turned-demon with him to places unknown. Grell had attempted chasing after the devil he so adored, but quit suddenly and returned to London and resumed his work.

His immediate stop had been the first of many realizations Grell had concerning his emotions; Sebastian did not, at all, in any way, shape, or form, return his affections. Now, Grell had realized this before, slightly, but he always pushed thoughts of the like to the back of his twisted mind, refusing to believe his Sebastian truly hated him. Though now, that is what Grell truly believed, and he knew somewhere, the demon was grateful for it. Grell was such a bother.

Smiling, Grell put the brush down and played with his red hair a bit, putting it up, down, and later attempting to curl it. It was Saturday, and dear William hadn't made Grell work overtime the night before. Grell had been making good progress as a shinigami in the workplace. His paperwork was on time, and editing was impeccable. Grell had reaped a great amount of souls without a screw-up, but his flamboyant and annoying behavior remained mostly the same around William when turning his files for the week in.

And he knew William wasn't proud, but waiting to be let down once again.

Grell leaned into the mirror, his hair let down loosely around his shoulders as he dragged a small tube of crimson paint along his lips, smearing them pleasantly. Puckering them to see the effect, Grell thought about why he was punished so much. Since he was a small child, Grell had longed to be a woman. He wanted breasts - Size didn't matter. He wanted a different type of sexual organ down there. He wanted to have the chance to give birth. Oh, how he wished he could know how it felt to give life to another. Grell stared at himself in the mirror; His flat chest, covered in a red towel, thighs showing slightly. He sighed.

Picking up the brush again, Grell repeated his earlier actions, changing the style of his hair again and again.

Why couldn't he be a woman? Why couldn't he find a nice man to love him? Grell could and would love with all his fragile heart! How come none of the men he saw every day didn't see what he saw in the mirror? He was beautiful. Long, red hair. Perfect lips and a sharp smile. A slight blush under long eyelashes - To which he applied mascara on after noticing how plain they looked at the moment. Grell was a pretty man, and he would be even prettier if he were a woman. So just why in the world did no prince come to save him? How long did he have to wait, containing his true emotions, until the perfect man showed up on his doorstep? Grell was tired of waiting.

The shinigami put the mascara down and shook his head slightly, blinking rapidly. It was cold, which made his adorable blush more profound. Damn it all, why couldn't Sebastian or William - Hell, even the Undertaker or that Ronald kid - be here to see his beautiful vulnerable state? Why was his prince holding back from giving Grell his happily ever after? Grell gripped at the vanity, looking at his bright green eyes. He could see everything in them, way past the fake red smile on his face.

All his grief and sorrow, all his unrequited love, every ounce of hurt he'd held in for his whole life as a shinigami, was visible in them. Grell was uneasy. The coming tears were not theatrical - He knew because no one was here to see, so there would be no point. He blinked again and again, smiling at his reflection and telling himself over and over in his head how pretty he looked in red. He lied repeatedly about how William felt about him deep inside, how he knew he was irresistible to the mortician and the new shinigami. The only reason no one came to visit him on the weekends, or called him to see what's wrong when he fakes sick, is because they're too shy and worried they'll say something wrong to him, the beautiful crimson princess. Because deep down, every single one of the men Grell showed obsessive affection for loved him back, but was just too scared to show it.

Grell scooted back a little, letting go of the mirror, and smiling a little wider, a little madder. He closed his eyes daintily and laughed lightly to himself and the empty house around him. He convinced himself on an almost daily basis that his naturally loving nature would pay off in the end and that he would find Prince Charming, but why? What's the point, when inside, Grell truly knows no one actually notices it when he walks down the hallway, frowning, instead of skipping down with a Cheshire grin? Why should he continue trying to keep his beaten and broken heart together, when no one really even cares if they stepped on it in the first place?

Once you've been rejected as many times as Grell had in his lifetime, one learns to accept themselves, because they realize no one else ever will. The need to hold back tears left Grell, and as he stared at himself, he felt rather numb. His parents never loved him, in fact, he hardly knew them and had forgotten their names long ago. He once had a few friends - All of which left him when they discovered he wasn't female, but a strange boy acting as a girl. Obviously, not many men ever liked his company, considering he was murdered by a gang of nice-looking boys who, before beating him to death, enjoyed making great fun out of Grell's sexuality. Grell couldn't recall the name or face of the shinigami that brought him back to life - in the loosest sense of the word - but he was sure that shinigami didn't want to see him again. William, who had become his superior in the shinigami workplace was completely disgusted with Grell after seeing him all over a filthy demon. Even lowly devils like Sebastian and the brat hated his flamboyant presence. Undertaker never called, or came to visit, but Grell secretly loved taking soul-reaping jobs that were luckily near the mortician's shop. He at least put up with Grell with a happy face. And Ronald was just a kid, though Grell felt rather happy whenever the young shinigami ever called him his senpai, for it seemed Grell had yet to screw up with the boy, and almost felt like a role-model. All in all, Grell could think of two people who didn't gag at the sight of him.

That made Grell really smile, knowing he wasn't hated by the entire world.

He flipped the majority of his hair back, leaving only a few red curls hanging down near his neck and chest. The little skull and beads hanging down from a chain on his glasses dangled with every slight movement. It was dark, except for a few candles there at the vanity, and Grell thought the shadows made him look rather pretty. He wondered if anyone in this small world would agree. He smiled cutely. Then Grell felt the numbness leave immediately when he noticed black lines streaking down his made-up face.

He gripped at his seat as his mascara ran down rapidly.

He wasn't pretty. He was a horrible, ugly, freakish mess. He was a sexually confused outcast. He was a loser, with not one true friend in the world, and without someone to love. He lived in fear of showing how he really felt, and put on a show so no one could judge him, but the cheap act instead. His breath came out in short pants, because his lungs couldn't catch up with his thoughts, and he wasn't thinking about how he actually didn't need to breathe. Grell closed his eyes and tilted his head back, laughing loudly. When he stopped for a breath, he heard the sound echoing off the walls of the lonely house. Grell sat there and laughed, tears streaming down his face, his green eyes unfocused from the wetness.

He stood up, letting the stool fall backwards, and tossed the red brush in his hand at the mirror, watching as glass shards shot out in all directions. He stared at the shattered mirror, finding a loose connection with his abused heart. Grell held the towel against his chest and ignored the pain coming from the freshly-made cuts on his arms, a few shards still stuck in his soft flesh. He smiled a shark-like smile. He looked so wonderful in red. He stood there, admiring the way the lighting accented the blood leaking out of a particularly large cut on his neck.

Yes, Grell stood there all night, staring at his broken reflection in the mirror.

He didn't like what he saw.

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><p><strong>Reviews are greatly appritiated.<strong>


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